Downpour
by WriteOnForever
Summary: Rain brings back memories, memories bring bad performances, and it's up to Larry to comfort the newest member of the Doom Patrol. Pre-series.


Disclaimer: Nothing. I own nothing, I say.

Downpour

Beneath all the bandages, Larry Trainor was still human. He enjoyed the sound of spring rain pattering against windows and the sight of the first snowfall of winter; he trembled with rage at the newspaper headlines reporting another school shooting or the latest casualties of war; he groaned at the horrible plays his sports teams made and the never-ceasing rise in gas prices.

And when he saw a small boy huddled in the corner sobbing, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Garfield?" he whispered, unsure of how to handle this. Normally, he would have just snuck away to get Rita, but she was lying in the Infirmary right now, under a drug-induced haze to help with the pain of three broken ribs and a sprained ankle. He took a step closer. "Garfield?"

The sobbing continued, muffled by the young boy's hand, as though he didn't want anyone to hear. Larry sighed quietly and came to the shape-shifter's side. Kneeling, he rested a hand on shaking shoulders and murmured, "Garfield?"

The nine-year-old gasped and whirled around. "I'm s-sorry," he whispered. "Did I wake you?"

"No, kid, I'm just heading to bed. Night owl, you know?" He sat down, legs crossed, and propped his chin up on his fist. "So, want to tell you why you're upset?"

He shook his head and rubbed at his cheeks. "I'm okay."

"C'mon, string bean, tell me what's wrong."

The young child hiccupped and buried his head in his hands. "The rain," he finally murmured.

"The rain? It's been storming since this morning. Besides, we've faced a lot of things scarier than rain pounding on the headquarters." It was supposed to be a gentle tease, but fresh tears leaked from Garfield's eyes, and Larry cursed his monotone voice. "I'm sorry, Gar. It's okay to be scared."

"I'm not scared," he objected weakly. "It's...it's just that I don't like it when it rains a lot."

There was a moment of processing before Larry understood, and he wanted to kick himself for not realizing it sooner. Garfield's parents died in a flood; of course so much rain would remind him of that.

"It's alright, Garfield." He hesitantly wrapped an arm around his newest teammate. "It's alright."

"No it's not." He sniffled pitifully and fiddled with the cuffs of his dinosaur pajama shirt. "I did bad today because of it. I was distracted and sad and, and that's why I didn't do good and that's why Rita got hurt."

The statement died off in a whimper, and Larry felt his chest tighten. Yeah, the fight that day hadn't gone too much in the Patrol's favor, and yeah, Garfield hadn't been as quick with Mento's orders as he normally was, but it certainly wasn't his fault Rita had been hurt. It was a culmination of factors, from the practical monsoon to the inability to hear one another to the manpower lost over evacuating civilians. It had gone to Hell as soon as they arrived at the scene, and Rita getting cornered by Madame Rouge was not Garfield's fault.

"That's not true, Gar. She got hurt fighting. It could have been any of us. And it's not something you could have prevented."

"I could have." His ears were twitching, one second standing, the next, drooping. Rita would know what that meant, Larry was sure of it. "I was supposed to work with her! That was my job. And I failed."

"You were helping civilians."

"Only because I forgot my place! I'm not a full-fledged hero yet and I'm not allowed to act like it. That's why bad things happen." His arms wrapped tightly around his knees and he was rocking slightly and Larry worried if a child could have a panic attack. "My orders were to work with Elasti-Girl. Do not stray from Elasti-Girl. I disobeyed and disobedience is bad." He was crying again, not loudly, but more than a few stray tears. "Disobedience can get people killed and I was lucky this is all that happened."

Larry scowled. Garfield was a smart kid, but the way he was talking...no way was that all thought up on his own. Recalling that Steve had been alone with the kid while he and Cliff had helped Rita to the Infirmary, he asked gently, "Gar, is that what Steve told you?"

He shook his head and clamped his mouth shut.

"Did Steve tell you that?" he pressed. Steve Dalton was a lot of things, but a nurturer was not one of them. Deep down, Larry knew that everything Steve did and said was in the interest of both the Patrol and innocent civilians, but that didn't mean he didn't want to grip the telekinetic's shoulders and just _shake _him.

"He's right, though," Garfield insisted quietly. "I was bad." He hugged himself tighter, became a tiny little ball. "She could have died, like M-Mommy and Daddy, all because of me."

Larry sighed quietly and carefully lifted the small boy into his lap. "Gar, I need you to breathe and listen to me. We've been through this, right? Your parents did not die because of you. You had just gotten your powers, you were scared, and you barely survived yourself. It was not your fault you could not save them." He wished Rita was here because she was so good with Gar, but she wasn't and he was and man, he was a poor substitute. "And Rita getting hurt was not your fault, either. You know who's fault it was? Madame Rouge's. She chose to hurt Rita, not you. So don't do this to yourself. Please, Garfield, you can't do this to yourself."

"I can't help it," he murmured sadly. "I, I had a bad dream, and I saw Mommy and Daddy dying, and then Rita, and...and when I woke up, I couldn't make the bad things go away."

"What does Rita do when you get bad dreams?" Because more often than not, he was awake when the child was trudging hesitantly to her room.

"She tells me the story of the princess and the frog," he explained, voice softer, as though he'd been struck by a sudden shyness.

"Alright." Larry stood, easily holding Garfield in his arms. "Then that's what we're going to do."

"You don't have to," he objected weakly.

"We're teammates. We stick together."

He carried the boy to his room and lay him down on the bed. Turning on the lamp, he said, "Okay. Where's the book?"

"There is no book. Rita, she just tells it to me." Wrapping the comforter around his hands, he continued, "I'm okay, Larry."

"No, no, I can do this." He snapped off the lamp, letting the small nightlight (in place because Rita's firm insistence won out over Steve's chagrin) set a soft glow about the room. Settling on the other side of the bed, he proceeded, "Okay, I know this one. So, once upon a time..."

Garfield's eyes were flittering throughout the story, and he drifted to sleep just as Larry whispered, "And they all lived happily ever after."

"'Night," the mummy murmured softly, easing himself off the bed. At least, he tried, until he realized Garfield had commandeered his arm as a pillow/ stuffed animal. How he hadn't noticed the numbness in his limb until right now was an unsolvable mystery.

"Ah, well." Larry pulled himself back onto the mattress and ruffled Garfield's hair. "Goodnight, kid."

He might not have been Rita, but maybe he wasn't that poor a substitute after all.


End file.
